


No Sleep For The Evil

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hell, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you kill Sam's brother, Sam's coming after you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sleep For The Evil

The inconsequential, middle-class house erupts into flames some time during the early morning. Nobody can explain it. Except for maybe Sam Winchester. Not that anybody can find him.  
  
\---  
  
Sam doesn't know when he wakes up.  
  
At the back of his mind he thinks he knows  _where_ he does, but it's the forefront of his mind which he focuses on, and that part hasn't quite caught up to everything yet. Sam sits up, blinks, and pictures glassed-over green eyes that belong to his brother. His  _dead_ brother. Sam's on his feet before his mind is clear.  
  
The room he stands and looks around in is coated in thick, red smears.  _Blood_ , his mind supplies after a momentary pause. He turns in a complete circle and all he sees is blood, blood,  _b_ _lood_.  
  
It rushes back to him. Everything. Lilith, the blinding white light, and the power. Power he can already feel thrumming through his limbs again, hot in the palm of his hand and snaking up his neck. It sits, boiling and heavy, at the base of his spine and Sam just lets himself _feel_.  
  
He knows that he's in Hell. He knows that he's  _home_.  
  
Sam also knows that he has to find Dean.  
  
\---  
  
More time skips. Sam knows it skips, but he finds it impossible to figure out  _how_ or  _why_. Just that he's focusing on that heat coursing through his body. The whispers start at some point, at first more like static, but slowly forming tangible words he can grasp onto with his mind.  _King_ , they whisper-scream,  _Brother_. The more he focuses the sooner he figures out that the overriding voice is Yellow Eyes'.  
  
 _Soldier_ , the voice insists. Sam doesn't know if it's year old memory or a new thought.  _King_.  
  
Sam closes his eyes and focuses on the burning that still courses through his body. Pinpoints it on where he needs to be; finding his brother. Finding  _Dean_.  
  
\---  
  
When Sam opens his eyes again, the blood is gone. As is the room he originally woke up in. The voices have ceased screaming, and instead it's like a switch has been flicked. He knows this is what he's supposed to be doing.  
  
Darkness coats the room that Sam stands in, but at the far end he can see a door. It's the only way out or in. Sam walks toward it and tugs on the handle.  
  
\---  
  
The screaming comes back. This time it's not in Sam's mind.  
  
Opening the door places Sam in a room of death — it's the only way to ever describe it. As far as his eyes can see, there are bodies. Although even  _bodies_ seems like a stretch. Mostly it's skin. Strung up on walls and hooks and across cages. Wailing, screaming, writhing. Normally, Sam thinks at the back of his mind, this would bother him. Right now it's like listening to everything through a filter. He experiences, but he feels nothing.  
  
Sam walks past the bodies, down a long, long hall with the skin-coated walls. He stops at one body and stares. As he does so, the torn and blood-splattered flesh on its face becomes whole again. A man. Those whisper-scream voices say his name is Jacob.  _Sold his soul for an empire_ , they tell Sam. Sam reaches out his hand, touches Jacob's face, and the man screams in agony before falling limp.  
  
"Sam Winchester."  
  
It is a real voice this time. Sam turns to see another man, but this one is not bleeding or broken. Instead his eyes look like they have been carved out to leave two gaping black holes. The creature Sam has been raised to destroy his entire life.  
  
Instead of reaching for Ruby's knife, he asks, "Who are you?"  
  
The demon shakes his head. "That's not important. I have someone to take you to." The demon turns, then looks over his shoulder. "Come now."  
  
Sam holds his ground. "No," he says. "Where's my brother?"  
  
"Where all our newest recruits are." A grin flashes up on the demon's face. "But that doesn't matter, Sammy. You're here for your own reason, and it's not particularly in-line with the Winchester hunting ways."  
  
That heat is still rising and swirling around Sam's body. He stares at the demon. "Tell me where he is."  
  
"Someone wants to see you." The demon's voice remains even. "Come."  
  
"No."  
  
Around them, people —  _souls_ — continue to scream. Sam still manages to block them out.  
  
"Until you take me to Dean," Sam says steadily. "I'm not going anywhere with you."  
  
The demon shakes its head and a less than inviting smile forms across its lips, more akin to a smirk than any other form of expression. It somehow dulls the heat pounding through Sam's body and leaves him feeling some semblance of fear. "You really want to see your brother?"  
  
Sam's voice stays even. "That's what I said."  
  
The demon's smirk widens. "Then follow me."  
  
\---  
  
The first thing Sam notices in this room isn't the screaming. It's the stark, cold silence that spreads around them like ice trickling down Sam's entire body. Against it is the continual heat that somehow,  _somehow_ , grows even warmer with every step he takes.  
  
"Where is he?" Sam asks. His voice booms and echoes, coming back to hit his body.  
  
"All in good time." For some reason there is no echo in the demon's voice. He manages to stay at hardly more than a whisper.  
  
Every part of Sam screams (but not  _those_ screams; no more voices, just internal thought processes whizzing around) to stand still and wait. Wait until he gets something solid and real. This is  _Hell_. Why doesn't he feel like he wants to run and get out of there?  
  
 _Dean_.  
  
He really can't tell if his brother's name is the screams or the thoughts.  
  
Sam keeps walking, because he feels as though he has to. Step after step after step. No more words exchanged between him and the demon. Footsteps echoing, but only Sam's. The only noise is Sam and he feels as though he's going to go crazy from the silence. Heat keeps rising,  _burning_ , but somehow not hurting.  
  
Never hurting.  
  
\---  
  
"Your brother is just past this door."  
  
The demon had stopped suddenly at a blood red door. Sam can't tell if it's actually blood or just the same colouring. He almost wants to reach out and test, but holds himself back.  
  
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Sam asks, wary.  
  
"You don't."  
  
Sam turns to look at the demon, but it's already gone.  
  
\---  
  
"Dean," Sam breathes against the door. He had touched it; the cold and solid feeling of metal. Something in his mind still won't stop nagging that it's  _dried_ blood. Paint produced by Hell.  
  
Sam reaches out for the handle and a burst of white flows from the tips of his fingers. All of that heat that had been building and building releases, just a little, and is replaced with a feeling he can't quite put his finger on. More than anything, it calms him, placates him, clears his mind and makes him feel powerful for the first time since Jess' death — or maybe earlier, maybe since that Christmas when Dean told him the truth.  
  
 _Dean_.  
  
With that thought, the white light comes out harsher and the door swings open with an audible  _crash_ onto the wall behind. It's too dark to see anything, but Sam steps forward and his hand begins to glow. So bright but not burning anymore. Just lighting his way.  
  
"Dean!" he calls, and tries to  _feel_ for a response rather than hear.  
  
 _Sammy?_  
  
It's not said out loud. That's the first thing Sam has been dead-set certain about since he woke up down here. Apart from maybe the fact it  _is_ Hell — that seemed like innate knowledge from somewhere deep within.  
  
"Dean!" he yells out again, and keeps  _feeling_ , keeps  _sensing_. Apart from the light coming from his own hand the room is pitch black and that's all he has to go on.  
  
There's no further response from Dean. Sam relies on his own feet to take him where he needs to go.  _Step, step, step_. Steady though the burning in his body begins rising again with each movement.  
  
He can't tell where the room ends, where the walls are, if there is a ceiling. It feels like a bottomless pit and that sends another surge of heat rushing into Sam's chest. The white light bursts stronger, emitting a further radius, though the room is so large it does nothing much.  
  
All of it is sheer instinct.  _All of it_. Not even a voice in his mind, Yellow Eyes or otherwise. Not Sam, because his own concious feelings are just beyond reach and he can't tug them back. It's just this instinct that struck him when he first woke up and takes him forward.  
  
\---  
  
Dean is at the end of the room. Sam  _knows_ before he  _sees_.  
  
Then he hears.  
  
A harsh, dark whisper of a voice that spikes through Sam and, momentarily, takes away all of the heat and light flowing through him. But Sam has to keep moving, has to find  _Dean_.  
  
"Ah, Sam Winchester," says the voice, only Sam can't see the source, so how can it see him? It continues, "About time you made it here."  
  
Sam slows his steps, and the burst of light from his hand dulls. Surprise attack. Though he doubts how that's possible when the owner of the voice seems to know his name, that he would be coming here.  
  
"Sam, don't!" Dean's voice suddenly booms through the room, followed by an agonised groan, and Sam's heart lurches at the sounds. _Sam's_ heart.  _His_. Not whatever this heat and light has taken over.  
  
"Dean!" He yells, and sets off running. The light rushes harder, brighter, managing to illuminate the walls that must be hundreds of feet across. He still can't see the end, still can't see his brother. Never-ending. Is this Hell? Is this what he's  _doomed_ to?  
  
 _The Boy King will never be doomed_. Yellow Eyes' voice. Sam even expects it, and it doesn't cause any pause in his steps.  
  
Only seeing Dean makes Sam stop dead in his tracks.  
  
For a moment, Sam's not even sure if it  _is_ his brother. Only that, in the distance, with enough light come from behind to see, there's a body. A body coated in blood and shreds of skin, strewn up on chains. In front of him is another body. The owner of that voice. He turns and smiles with full-teeth at Sam.  
  
"See what Dean-o did for you?" The being —  _demon_ , he knows now — says. "This is his eternity." A beat, an impossibly wider grin. "So why are you here?"  
  
Sam opens his mouth without coming up with a solid answer and closes it again. He feels as though there is something just out of reach, something he  _should_ know, but is clouded by a veil he can't break through.  
  
"Sold your own soul?" The demon asks. He steps away from Dean and comes toward Sam, only Sam's eyes stay fixed on his brother who's head has slumped forward, chin to chest. Unmoving. "Hate to tell you, Sammy, but I heard nothing about a deal."  
  
Sam is hardly listening to him at this point. He's willing Dean to move. To look up. To  _fight_ , dammit, even if he is strung up with thick chains that go further than Sam can see. The heat and pressure continues to build, but no further light appears from his hands. The only source is coming from somewhere behind Dean.  
  
The demon is standing right in front of Sam. Sam can feel the presence, see his shadow, but still refuses to acknowledge. He walks forward, brushes past a freezing cold body.  _We burn cold_ , a voice tells him. It's not Yellow Eyes this time. He keeps going, keeps walking forward, and Dean's head finally starts to move again, looks up, seems to focus on Sam.  
  
"Hey," Sam says. His voice remains soft. "Hey Dean. Told you I'd get you out."


End file.
